Busy Nights
by FictionCookie2
Summary: Azzanadra has a stressful day at work. He calls for Sliske to help him relax.


Sliske didn't know what to expect when he was urgently called into the Pontifex Maximus' office. He was curious as to what was so important he had to be summoned immediately; he wondered how Azzanadra had the time to meet with the Praefectus Praetorio, for the poor church leader had been locked inside his office all weekend, wrapped up in the dealings of the state. They'd recently acquired some northern territory, thanks to a successful campaign led by Zamorak himself, but with this came a mountain of bureaucracy and stress.

Azzanadra answered him swiftly after he knocked; Sliske saw nothing but a flash of stern eyes before he was dragged inside by the collar of his robe and thrown forcefully against the nearest wall, held there by the powerful grip of his Mahjarrat companion. The echo of the slamming door reverberated between Sliske's ears, already ringing from the impact of meeting the wall. Just before the dazed and confused Mahjarrat could try and piece together what he'd done to piss Azzanadra off so violently this time, his questions were answered in the form of a tongue forcing its way into his mouth.

_Ah._ He understood, and reciprocated eagerly, moving a hand towards Azzanadra's cheek before it was caught in a vice-like grip and slammed back against the wall.

Again, Sliske understood. Azzanadra wanted all the control this time, and if he had to, he was going to take it.

Lips left Sliske's before rushing down towards his exposed neck, biting deep into the flesh. Hissing in pain, Sliske instinctively struggled, but Azzanadra had too tight a hold on him. When it came to brute strength, Sliske was outmatched. He felt as if Azzanadra was going to rip out his jugular, but before he could protest - which he knew would only be ignored - lips returned to him, this time accompanied by a metallic tang.

It seems as if Azzanadra had drawn blood, and a fair amount of it. He'd marked him.

Briefly, there was respite - Azzanadra had stopped to catch his breath. When Sliske looked into his partner's eyes, it sent chills down his spine. They were dark and wild, like a cornered animal with bloodlust on its mind.

Licking his lips, Sliske attempted a weak grin. "I see the stresses of the day have-"

He was sharply cut off by a claw squeezing his throat, nails digging into the sensitive flesh. Sliske put a hand up to try and push Azzanadra away, but it wasn't in earnest - Sliske knew what this meant. It was Azzanadra's way of saying '_shut up and do as I say'_. He knew their dance well by now, though an outburst of this… _magnitude…_ wasn't as common.

Sliske fought for restricted air as he found himself lifted up by the throat, Azzanadra's steely glare piercing right through him as if they were bloodsworn enemies.

Azzanadra squeezed harder, watching with satisfaction as Sliske's eyes flashed in fear. Being able to hold someone's life in the palm of his hand was such an _addictive_ sensation, incomparable in every way, and it drove his hunger onwards.

The next thing Sliske knew, Azzanadra grabbed onto a part of his robe and launched him across the desk, sending him clattering into an undignified heap on the floor, scattering papers, ornaments and a rather heavy paperweight to the ground. Stretching out the bruises on his shoulders, Sliske coughed and turned over to see Azzanadra standing over him, cold and terrifying, with a segment of Sliske's robe in his hand. Dabbing his lip with the back of his hand, he noticed more blood this time, blaming it on that damn paperweight that caught him in the jaw. Then, Azzanadra was on top of him again, lips and teeth hungry, rough hands tearing and exploring. This time Sliske was allowed to return the favour, finding his way underneath Azzanadra's robe and scratching at the grey skin beneath. Azzanadra responded by tearing apart Sliske's robe, exposing the striped and marked flesh beneath, and taking one of his nipples into his mouth. Moaning at the sensation, Sliske's back arched, drawing Azzanadra in further.

The two continued to tangle like that for a while longer until Azzanadra, wordless until now, finally spoke.

"Shift," the command was gruff and brusque; Sliske blinked, faltering slightly. While Sliske was rather fond of shapeshifting with his partners, usually taking on the form of a human to benefit from their _appendages_, Azzanadra was less keen. The two of them had done so before, but usually only when Azzanadra was desperate for something _more_, an itch that normal Mahjarrat contact could not scratch. It wasn't often, but Sliske would revel in the opportunity.

Biting back a smile, Sliske asked, "Any requests, _master_?"

He knew the title caused Azzanadra's throat to go dry; victory. After readjusting his hitched breathing, Azzanadra said, "You. Just this."

The 'this' he was referring to was made apparent when Azzanadra's hand gripped between Sliske's thighs, heat radiating from his palms.

Grinning, Sliske worked on a shift to suit Azzanadra's needs. "As you wish, _master_."

Throwing his head back, Sliske screamed out at the contact, the motion, the force, panting and gasping for air as Azzanadra ruined him. It hurt, of course, but it felt _incredible_. The delicate blend of pain and pleasure was not so delicate in Azzanadra's hands, but it worked.

He could feel himself getting close, feel the build up of Azzanadra's actions pushing him to the brink, right to the edge, just about to make him-

That was when Azzanadra stopped.

NOW the pain was most certainly real. From the unbridled frustration and the lack of release, Azzanadra's withdraw had left him shaking, trembling, _desperate_.

"Azzanadra," Sliske growled through gritted teeth, his legs fidgeting. "Finish me off or I'll _murder_ you."

It didn't take long for Sliske to realise that, poor attempt at a joke or not, Azzanadra was _not_ in the right headspace to be threatened in _any way_.

A claw returned to his throat, deep enough to draw blood, hard enough to bruise, and it dragged him upwards. Helplessly, Sliske followed the motion, staring up the Mahjarrat who really did have murder in his eyes.

"Did you just threaten me?" Azzanadra asked, chillingly quiet.

As best he could, Sliske fought to shake his head - speaking was out of the question, as was breathing. Azzanadra pushed him backwards, and Sliske caught himself before he crumpled back to the floor, coughing and spluttering.

Azzanadra watched him compose himself before uttering one simple command. "Kneel."

A sneer tugged at the corner of Sliske's lips; his eyes didn't leave Azzanadra's as he made his way to his knees in front of the Mahjarrat, vision still hazy from the proceeding events.

There was something in seeing such a powerful, controlling and manipulative being - such as Sliske is - being left trembling and kneeling at a command. It made Azzanadra's legs shake.

It was then Sliske noticed that Azzanadra had also shifted. Raising a curious eyebrow, the sneer grew into a wicked smile, but he awaited instructions, like a good little Mahjarrat.

The instructions came in the form of nails gripping the back of his neck and pulling him in the direction that Azzanadra most wanted attention. Sliske was happy to oblige.

Slowly at first, he listened intently to the moans he was eliciting, Azzanadra's hand still at the back of his head, a constant instruction. Sliske wanted to _play_, wanted to _enjoy_, but it was not Azzanadra's will; the Mahjarrat urged him to go fasting, thrusting his head closer. The thought briefly danced in Sliske's mind to leave him hanging like Azzanadra had done minutes before, but he was smart enough to know better. Azzanadra would probably redecorate the office with his innards.

And so, he continued to work Azzanadra until the Mahjarrat finally felt release. With a loud moan, Azzanadra staggered back into the wall, trying to calm his ragged breathing. Sliske rose to his feet, noting that the deathly look in Azzanadra's eyes had now subsided. He looked much calmer. So, Sliske felt brave enough to flash a devilish grin and insinuate, "Are you going to return the favour now, _sweetheart_?"

Sliske did love to tease Azzanadra with pet names, but it usually had mixed results. Thus, he wasn't all that surprised when he was tossed out of the office.

He stumbled into the hallway with thick blood dripping down his neck and pieces of fabric ripped out of his robe. It was then he noticed two young human tribunes looking on in abject terror.

Straightening up what was left of his robe and regaining as much composure as possible, Sliske turned to them with a crooked smirk and said, "Azzanadra will see you now."


End file.
